


Triangulate

by brittlelimbs



Series: Reylux Drabbles [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6204469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/pseuds/brittlelimbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey is a very, very good student. </p>
<p>AKA Rey's managing to bang two of her profs at the same time and it's not even a problem. Kinda PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triangulate

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from lairofailiasfox: "Ahem. I heard you said that you were still taking prompts *clears throat* College AU where Rey is a student of both Kylo and Hux and/or AU where Rey is the Empress (since she is the descendant of Palpatine) and Hux and Kylo serve her (in more ways than one ;) ). These probably aren’t the best ones I’ve come up with so far so please forgive me."
> 
> Reposted from my tumblr, come follow me for more drabbles!  
> floatin-on-bespin.tumblr.com

Two weeks ago, if you’d told Rey that _Ben Solo_ gave the best head a girl could find in the lower 48, she’d have laughed at you. Ben Solo, her awkward, slightly eccentric Art History prof? Romanesque architecture enthusiast? That guy? Not likely.

It had been Hux’s fault, of course, for introducing them. They go way back, him and Rey. Freshman fall, so wide-eyed, so painfully, literally  _fresh_. Hux, the unerring hand, the man who always knew precisely what he wanted. Who always _got_ precisely what he wanted.

They’d sort of fallen into it, tongues peeking from between teeth, flushed, secret gazes in the banal fluorescent lighting of the Poli Sci lecture hall. First week, Hux was teaching her basic structures of democracy. Third week, he was teaching her how to take a cock, stifled groans in the shadows of an unused classroom. It was every fucking cliché in every piece of pulp fiction Rey had ever heard of, and she  _loved_ it.

Now, a year later, Rey’s not sure if fucking one of your professors necessitates expertise when it comes to fucking professors at large. But, she admits, hastily hooking her jeans down her hips, it does you certain skills: how to be fast, how to be quiet. How to smooth her hair and clothes just right, pretend that she didn’t just come twice in the cramped darkness of a janitorial closet (it’s harder than it seems). How to communicate in secret ways, through nothing more than parted lips, the lassitude of subtly splayed legs. _My office, after class_ , snuck in through nothing more than a heated glace between powerpoint slides. 

  
Rey learned fast; she’s always been a good student.

“You wan’ it?” she slurs. Her grin feels wicked, even on her own lips. Ben’s already champing to go; couldn’t stop fidgeting through the last few slides, tripping over his words, running his hand through his hair. Cathedrals. Chartre, Notre Dame, French, English, whatever. Rey didn’t particularly care. This class was just a distribution requirement, something she needed to get that diploma in her hands. Big pictures of old stone parapets, diagrams of flying buttresses (“a _fecundity_ of sculpture,” Ben had described, then nearly blushed, mortified at the sound of the word). She honestly couldn’t care less about any of it, save for working him in the best ways she knows how: squirming in her second-row seat, sucking at her fingers like they’re sticky-sweet, keeping him pinned under the heat of her gaze. She’d spent the whole period fully devoted to making him sweat through that yuppie sweater, shake in his oxfords. Piss his darkwash jeans.  

Rey hates Art History, but this—Ben licking his lips, pupils blown with stripped-bare arousal— _this_ she can get behind.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah.” He’s hiking her up, two big hands on her hips, like he can’t get her on his desk fast enough. She shivers in her undies. He likes this kind of stuff, she’s discovered; he’s not at all like Hux. Ben needs gentle coaxing, whispered dirty talk, nothing too intense. Watered down praise, fingers lightly scratching his scalp. Everything about him is soft, his lips ( _oh god_ ), his hair, the lush fan of his eyelashes, and in this way, there’s softness, too. He treats her like she’s holy, venerable, and it’s possibly the hottest thing that Rey’s ever experienced.    
A month ago, right before the end of fall term, Hux had slipped a course description sheet into her hand, pausing her as she left his apartment on her way to class, his spit on her lips; normal Thursday morning type shit. But this, not so much. _ARTH 110: Ancient Worlds_. She’d looked at him like he was crazy. _It’s taught by a friend of mine_ , he said. _I think you’d like him_ , he said, in a way that meant something a little bit more.

And now, three weeks and a handful of trysts later, here they are: locked in his office, Ben palming himself through his pants because the sheer idea of eating her out turns him on _just that much_ , and fuck, it’s wrong, but _damn_ does he look good.

Rey sighs happily when he finally gets down to it, knees on the linoleum, soaking panties pushed to the side. She needs to work with him on that speed thing; Ben’s such a fucking academic, even between her legs. It would make Rey laugh, if it didn’t make her come so hard that she’s left breathless. He has a habit of eating out like she’s a query that needs answering, a knot of information that needs to be massaged open, relaxed gently. His face buried into the softness of her, brow furrowed and serious; she’s a problem, one that determined to solve with soft, wide licks of his pink tongue.  
She’ll admit that there is some reason to this, some fruitfulness; he’d nipped at her clit for the first time last night, tangled in the hazy warmth of his studio apartment, teasing, gentle. When she’d positively _bucked_ at the feeling, he’d simply ridden it out, pressed his lips back in to explore further, to know _more_ , and Rey had just about died at the feeling of it. Now there’s a new set of keys in the back pocket of her faded jeans, clinking next to Hux’s. She’ll need a lanyard, soon, if she keeps this shit up.  
But this isn’t his apartment. This is his office—a locked office, but a campus space all the same, primed for a questioning student or one of Ben’s faculty to knock on the door, hear their obscene sounds. They need to go _quickly_.    
So she hustles him up, using a hand tangled in his hair to get him primed, right where she wants him. _No time to get cerebral on me, Prof_ , says her grip, and he understands, goes to town. His mouth is so warm and wet and perfect on her, fat lips at sucking on her clit like he can’t get enough, that Rey’s hand is fisting in his hair. He fits two fingers inside her, looking for her spot and–

_Ping!_

_Oh, shit._ The thought comes groggily, rising through the haze she’s mired in from Ben’s slick lips, how he’s gripping her belly with one huge hand like he won’t let her get away. _Ugh_. Thought she’d put it on silent. Rey reaches out, blindly groping for her phone with one hand, palm skittering across the cool mahogany. Beside her, she feels the thatch of ungraded term papers, crisp plastic-y neatness of his binder, pens, pencils. The warm, ceramic lip of his coffee mug. Finally, she finds it, managing to peel open her bleary eyes just enough to read the lock screen:

_Don’t start without me.  
\- H_

_Oops._ Right. She forgot.

Cool air brushes against the wet heat between her legs; Ben’s pulled away, and she’s so suddenly bereft, it’s infuriating. Dropping her phone to the desk with a clatter, Rey squirms, feeling the desk dig into her back, her tailbone. She narrowly, _narrowly_ , resists the urge to hook her other free hand in Ben’s hair, pull him back down, make him put that mouth right back where it belongs. He’s crouched between her legs, and he’s nothing but _wrecked_ , all heavy lidded eyes, flushed cheeks and neck, glistening chin. Hungry, eager.

She could come this instant, she thinks. Right now, just from the sight of him.

“Who is it?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches, pulling out of her, skimming a thumb in lazy circles around her clit. Tease. He’s out of breath, but she can still feel the vibration of that deep, rich bass, reverberating up through her thighs from where they’re hooked over his shoulders. That yuppie sweater is tickling the tender skin under the swell of her ass.  
“Nobody,” she grunts. He quietly licks his lips, looks up at her with glassy eyes, and, with that, fuck what she’d promised Hux ( _all three of us, quick and easy_ ) –she decides that she’s just about expended every ounce of self control; she grips the sides of his head, shaky, desperate, and _pulls_. But Ben knows. Ben knows. He’s already leaning in, licking her firm and fast and exactly how she wants him to. In an instant, she’s forgotten the text, her loose promise to Hux; this is too good to leave room for anything else in her brain, save for need.  
Hux comes when Rey’s scant seconds from losing it, so thoroughly committed to the chase that she doesn’t hear the door softly unlocking, the clip of his shoes on the floor. She doesn’t even know he’s there until there’s a hand cupped around the mound of her flushed cheek. Her eyes fly open: Hux! But this doesn’t matter. Ben, astute, brilliant Ben, knows better than to stop; something a little like showmanship in the confidence of his hands and mouth. He wants to show Hux that he’s taking care of their girl, their Rey, and she’s so, _so_ close–

Hux watches, slipping his fingers between her lips. He hums as she sucks at them with her clumsy, greedy tongue, her slack jaw. Ben might be studious, conscientious in his care, but Hux gets her in a way that few others do; she needs this, and he knows it. Even if she’s been disobedient.

“Bad girl,” he says quietly, looking on as Ben works with obscene skill between her trembling legs, and that’s exactly it—she’s gone, right over the edge, grinding into Ben so hard and so deep that he has to clutch at her thighs to keep from toppling over.

_I get them both,_ she thinks, awestruck, when she’s finally able to string together sentences once more. She watches Hux come down to steal her taste from Ben’s lips, begins to understand the symmetry of this thing. Hux and her and now Ben in between. Glorious and perfect, so fucked up that she’s trembling with it.

Rey decides, right then and there, that she fucking _loves_ college.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always much appreciated!


End file.
